I am the Shadow on the Moonlit Night
by JNSx7
Summary: Oogie Boogie wasn't always the boogieman. (Cover art by JKendall.)
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes: I've had this idea in my head for quite some time. Enjoy my newest story.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Nightmare Before Christmas". It belongs to Touchstone Pictures (Disney) and story by Tim Burton.**

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**I am the Shadow on the Moonlit Night**

**Chapter One: Alone**

1935, North America:

She ran for her life. Her lungs were burning, sweat and tears dripped down her face, but she didn't care, she just ran.

The outside was dark, she didn't know where she was going, and she didn't care.

After what seemed like forever, she finally stopped running, leaning against a tree by her hand to throw up. After she stopped throwing up, she listened and observed the area: nothing. Not a sound. She looked around: nobody, just her. All she saw was her hair in front of her face.

She took a deep breath then heaved a huge sigh of relief as she sat down. She escaped, and that is all that mattered.

She closed her eyes, trying to calm herself.

"Molly." She heard a low voice say. It wasn't loud, but to Molly Hatch, it was a dagger to the heart. She told herself that she was imagining things, that it was just the wind playing tricks on her, but she had to make sure, for her eyes were still closed.

Molly didn't want to look, like how a child didn't want to look under their bed. She told herself that she had to make sure. So she gained her courage and opened her eyes.

She saw nothing but her hair. Relief flowed through her. She did tell herself that she was only imagining things. She laughed a laugh of relief.

She continued to laugh until she was lifted by a strong grip on her neck. What was holding her was a silhouette of a big man covering the moonlight.

The man was choking her, cutting off oxygen to her lungs. She tried to escape from the man's grasp, digging her nails into the man's hand that held her. But the man only laughed at the woman's attempt.

The man lifted something shiny and long from his other hand. It was an axe. The man used the tip of the axe to move her hair out of her eyes, wanting her to see it all. The man lifted the axe then brought it down.

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The man laughed as he filled the new grave with dirt, the darkness of the night concealing the action. The grave was completely refilled with dirt. Then the man covered the fresh dirt with leaves and twigs, making it look like the rest of the ground.

Once the man finished, he turned away from the grave and walked away satisfied.

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February 1914, Western United States of America:

No one loved him. That was the awful truth. Nobody liked him. Nobody wanted to be near him. Nobody wanted to talk to him. His teachers hated him. His parents didn't want him. Nobody wanted to help him.

He was a little boy crying in the forest, his hands covering his face. He had enough of this. Why won't anyone like him? What has he done to deserve this?

He cried with silence, and he was so alone.

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**Author's Notes: Thanks for reading. Short, I know. Please review, my friend.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: Marks**

1935, Halloween Town:

"Oogie, I take it that the kill was a success." A voice said so high-pitched and quiet you had to focus very much to hear it. But the bald man it was talking to was used to it.

"Haha. Sure was!" The bald man, Oogie, proudly said. His body was surrounded by darkness, making it unable to see his body. But what was visible was Oogie's left arm lit up by the light of a lantern and the man was taking off stitches from his left arm that ran from his wrist to the hollow of his elbow joint. "You should have seen it! Her face was all red from trying to run from me! Ha! It was hilarious watching her life leave her eyes!"

Oogie was in the familiar secret dark cavern he was so fond ever since he was young. The cave was full of invertebrates of every sort. Over the years, Oogie put up lanterns and candles throughout the cave. Since the first time Oogie saw it, the cave looked a lot better.

"Then guess what happened!" Oogie gave the voice no time to guess. "I buried the entire corpse under ground! Ha! Just thinking about how the people will be searching for her in vain makes me chuckle! Ha!"

"Did you at least take some of Molly Hatch's organs?"

"No." Oogie said plainly. "I'm not letting any part of that creature..."

Before Oogie could finish his sentence he pulled the last of the stitches from his left arm. Instantly, the skin from where his stitches used to be peeled away, revealing rotting flesh infested with small invertebrates.

"Your flesh says otherwise." The voice said. "You are rotting, Oogie. If you keep this up, you will be infested with insects. I am surprised you even had the strength to kill."

"Well I did." Oogie said, now annoyed with the voice. Oogie picked up the thread and needle and started stitching back up the arm. "I survived this long with this condition, plus the economic crisis, I'll just get someone else's organs to replace this one."

"You're over-confidence will someday be your downfall."

"Don't count on it." Oogie said, finishing up with the stitches nearly as soon as he started. "There's no one that can hide from me." He said, tucking the needle and thread in his pant pockets.

Oogie then proceeded to the rope that hung from above into the cave's side, illuminated from the moonlight entering into the cave from its skylight. Oogie grabbed the rope, about to climb up.

"_I_ can hide from you." The voice said confidently.

Oogie stopped, hearing the voice's comment. Oogie was now illuminated himself, his back facing the majority of the cave. He slowly turned around, facing what he supposed was the direction of the voice.

Oogie's face was covered in black stitches. In fact, his whole body was covered in black stitches. They ran from his nose to the right edge of his mouth; from his shoulder to his jaw; from the back of his head to his left eye. All over him were black stitches.

Oogie in a strong voice then said to the voice, "_No one_ can hide from me forever."

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February 1914, Western United States of America:

The little boy walked home from school again. Since the road was mainly dirt it was hard for automobiles or horse-drawn carriages to drive on, so the little boy had to walk home with a limp and a black-eye he received from school.

The little boy was seven years old, but no one bothered to keep track. The boy was pale, with light brown hair that stretched so long it covered up a third of his brown eyes. The boy was in blue overalls and wearing a white, long-sleeved shirt, making the hot weather that much more unbearable.

After a while, the little boy finally got to his house. There was nothing special about it. It was small, made a long time ago, it was made of wood, and built many years ago. But it was quiet, for obvious reasons: no one lived nearby. Why should they? It was hot. It was dry. It was surrounded by dirt and rocks. But somehow the house made it through the years.

The little boy climbed the small, brown, wooden stairs with each step sending pain up his right leg. But eventually, the boy made it up to the front porch made of the same wood the stairs were. The boy reached the wooden green door, he opened it, then closed it behind him as he entered.

"Truman Bobi Igebor!" His mother yelled, clearly angry at Truman. "Where have you been!"

"Sorry, Mother." Truman said quietly, trying to hide the black-eye by not looking directly at his mother.

"Were you gambling again? You know you're too young for such things! You could be killed if you gamble with the wrong people!"

"I know. I know." Truman said glumly. _Not that you would care_. Truman thought.

"Go to your room and do your homework!" She yelled, pointing behind her in the direction of Truman's room.

"Yes mother." Truman walked past his mother to get to his room when he was slapped in the back of the head, but Truman didn't stop.

The short walk to his room, Truman made sure that his door was closed, then put his school supplies on the hard bed, then crumbled on the floor, curling up into a ball.

Truman cried a soundless cry, letting tears run from his face and drip onto the floor. After a while of this, Truman rolled up his left sleeve, revealing thin scar marks on his arm. He thought about finishing the job so many times before, but for some reason, Truman could never finish what he started. The closest he ever gotten was cutting himself from his wrist to the hollow of his elbow, but it wasn't deep enough.

He wiped away the tears from his eyes, got off of the floor, then sat down to do his homework.

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**A/N: 1. When imagining the voice, it's the voice from the beginning song that says, "I am the who when you call, 'Who's there?' I am the wind blowing through your hair." 2. Invertebrates are insects. 3. Yes, it's a story written with his childhood and adulthood put together.**

**Reviews are appreciated. Thanks!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: What happened?**

April 1914, Western U.S.A.:

Truman despised school. He hated going there. He hated homework, the teachers, his classmates, the walk there. But his mother was no better, and it got him away from her, so he went.

Truman listened, learned, studied, but he was never good at school. Maybe that's why all of his classmates picked on him. Or perhaps it was because he was quiet. Or it could be that he was different. Like how unlike the rest of his classmates who liked to talk with each other about some great rock in Washington D.C., or about some airplane that flew really far, or a film that was actually in color, or this sportsman, Baby Runt, or something. Truman, however, liked crickets and spiders and catching rabbits and climbing trees and gambling near a dirt road, those kinds of unusual sort of stuff. But they weren't unusual to Truman. Truman only saw it as having fun. But others did not.

Not long after school, Truman was walking on the dirt path that lead to his house, but not more than a few meters away from the school building he was suddenly pushed from behind, falling hard on his face with a good smack.

Truman was lifting himself up when a great force was brought to his back, forcing him downwards.

"What's wrong, Earthworm? I thought you liked the ground." A voice said with mockery. It was Eric Pathleton, one of Truman's classmates.

"Yeah, Bug-lover, just hop away." It was a different voice this time, it was Eric's friend, Joshua Malinca.

Truman lifted his face up to see another one of Eric's friends, Paul Huffton, his bright green eyes wide with pride, as if he was the one who took Truman down.

"Come on, Earthworm, eat the dirt to escape." Eric sneered.

"Yeah, Bug-lover, eat the dirt!" sneered Joshua.

"What's goin' on here?" a voice called out, a girl's voice, not one of Truman's classmates. It sounded like that the owner of the voice was ten, maybe more towards Truman's age.

The sound of the voice persuaded Eric to take his foot off of Truman. "We were only helping him achieve his one and only calling in life." Eric teased.

"Come on guys, this isn't funny." The girl said, separating Eric and his friends away from Truman, who was still lying on the dirt floor.

"Whatever, _girly_. Come on guys, no need to waste our energy on a stupid _girl_ anyway."

And with that, the three sprinted away, laughing at Eric's joke.

"You okay?" Said the girl, helping Truman on his feet.

Truman, looking at the ground quietly said, "Yeah. I've gone through worse."

"Here, let me have a look." The girl insisted, lifted up Truman's chin.

"No." Truman said, moving his head away. "I don't think that a _girl_ would know what to do."

The girl gave a heave of a breath, obviously insulted at Truman's words. "Excuse me, I'll have you know that my father is a doctor in the medical field and has taught me some things here and there.

"Now then, let me have a look." The girl lifted Truman's chin until his face was facing hers. "Hm. You have long hair for a boy." She said. The girl moved Truman's hair out of his eyes until she could fully see Truman's brown eyes.

The girl had blue eyes and her skin had some tan going on. She wore a faded blue dress and had a matching bow in her blonde hair, giving it a pony-tail.

The girl checked all around Truman's face for any sign of anything serious. "Hmmm. It's a bit red, but I think you're okay." The girl gave Truman a warming smile.

"Thanks." Truman said, giving the girl a little smile of his own. "My name is Truman. Truman Igebor." Truman said, holding his hand out at her.

The girl took his hand in a hand shake and said, "My name is Molly. Molly Hatch."

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1935, Western U.S.A:

Oogie waited in the corn field at night outside a farmer's farm, waiting for the farmer to return home. Oogie wished that he did not have to wait for long. His body was killing him, quite literally.

His skin felt like he was on fire, like someone decided to light a fire where Oogie stood. His eyes itched too. So, so badly. He wanted to rub them, but he knew that if he did, his eyes would give out faster than what they were worth to get. The left eye was already bad before, but it was so, so worse.

Oogie heard an automobile pull up to the farm-house. Oogie couched lower in the corn field, not wanting to get spotted.

The man stepped outside of his vehicle and started to walk toward the farmhouse.

Oogie slowly walked crouched down, holding an axe in his right hand.

The farmer was in the process of unlocking the door, no doubt after a long day of hard work. Oogie got closer and closer to the farmer, still fiddling with his keys. Oogie got right behind the man, slowly straightening his back and raising his axe above his head.

Oogie's bright green eyes were itching so badly. Time to get new ones, he thought, bringing down his axe on the farmer's head.

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1920, U.S.A.:

Truman completely despised Eric, and Joshua, and Paul, _and_ Molly. He hated them all before, but now he completely despised them. Some how, some way, he will have revenge.

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April 1914, Western U.S.A.:

Truman walked home after school after being pushed around by Eric and the rest. But Truman walked with what he didn't have in a long time: a smile. A small one, but a smile no doubt.

Truman had hopes that Molly and him will be great friends until the day they die.

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**A/N: Noticed anything? I'll give you a hint: the eyes. In this chapter you read a glimpse of Truman's teen-years. Not looking good, I'm afraid. This story makes you wonder what events occurred that could do this to him.**

**Review and write what you think what event occurred that changed him.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: The reason why I was gone for so long is because I've helped out my fellow FanFictionist, Dawn walker wolf, with his story, "Project: Assassin" by sending him new characters and story ideas. "Project: Assassin" is an Alpha and Omega anthropomorphic Sci-fi, Horror, Romance. Please support him and stay awesome.**

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**Chapter Four: Moving**

April, 11PM, 1936, Northeastern U.S.A:

Oogie was desperate. His condition keeps getting worse and worse, and every time he needed more organs faster than the last ones because they were rotting faster and faster. Oogie had no choice but to put even more stitches on his body or risk falling apart. His body felt like it was on fire, like someone burnt him with cigarettes all over his body. Walking became so much harder for him. Heck, he didn't call it walking anymore, but limping. His breathing became deeper and more ragged. His head felt like that it would split in two at any second. _That's_ how desperate he was for new organs.

He was so desperate he even went to a high-populated city. Oogie had to leave behind his clothes and his axe because it was only weighing him down, so Oogie searched in a dumpster outside of town and found a long, light-blue jeans, black shoes, and some sort of white sweatshirt with a hood-like thing attached to it. The name of the city, he didn't care. He did know that he was walking along a sidewalk made of cement and there were tall buildings all around. And the noise and the lights were unbearable. At least it was night when it was cool and the sun wasn't there to torment his hazel eyes. But nothing could help out his aching legs.

Oogie stumbled down to the cement, catching himself with his arms, but the weak arms gave way a second later, letting gravity take complete hold of Oogie. He tried again, using what little force he still had in his arms. But Oogie noticed dark red patches soaking all over his sleeves and chest. His nose started to bleed profusely, the dark red blood dropping to the ground.

Noticing this, Oogie found strength to push himself off of the ground and he bounded forward, looking for a place to rest in private and pushing away those who got in his way.

Oogie spotted a dark alley way and went for it. When he felt like he was far enough in the alleyway, he rested his back against the brick building, taking deep breaths.

"Even this far in an alley, the city's noise is still loud." Oogie complained under his breath.

"Hey, empty out ya pockets, ya hear?" a groggy voice from his left threatened.

Oogie looked to his left and saw a guy that appeared to be nineteen holding a knife menacingly in Oogie's direction. The nineteen-year-old looked completely calm, which Oogie presumed he had done this before. The teen had long, messy blonde hair, bags under his eyelids. He had torn up black jeans and was wearing the same type of sweatshirt thing he was wearing but was dark gray.

"You... dare... threaten... me?" Oogie tried to say threateningly between breaths.

"Come on man, it's nothin' personal, it's just tha' I need ta' suhvive tuh, y'know. So just empty ya pockets an' I will beh on meh marry way, ya dig?"

"Your... accent's... annoying... me."

The hooded teen saw that the man's white sweater was covered in blood, especially his sleeves. "Whoa man, ya drippin' all ovah ya threads and on ta tha floor." The hooded teen said with wide eyes.

"So... as you could... see, I am currently... too weak to... 'empty out my pockets'."

"It don't concern meh. I could just do it mehself, thank ya." The hooded teen moved slowly closer to Oogie to see if he was actually hurt. After a few seconds of Oogie not moving, the nineteen-year-old proceeded to move to Oogie at normal pace. The hooded teen started to search the bleeding man's pockets with his left hand while remaining to point the knife in his right hand towards the bleeding man, when all of a sudden, the bleeding man grabbed the teen's left arm with a death grip.

"Whoa!" The hooded teen yelled. "Dude, let meh go!" Without thinking, the hooded teen thrust the knife forward, stabbing Oogie deep in the chest.

Oogie stopped moving completely, shocked at what just happened. Oogie let go of the hooded teen and looked at the knife in his chest as bright red blood spread on his jacket from his chest. "Oh man." The hooded teen said covering his mouth with his hands, horrified by what he had done. "Oh man. Oh man. Oh man. Ohhh maaaan. I am soh sorry, man. I am soh soh sorry, man."

Oogie continued to stare at the knife with wide eyes. He grabbed the hilt of the knife and instead of pulling it out, Oogie started to slowly move the knife across his chest, cutting more of his chest, staining his white jacket in fresh blood. Once the cut was an inch long, bumps appeared under the man's jacket, moving all around. But some of the bumps came out of the jacket through the new tear. What came out of it was a cockroach, then a spider, then a beetle, then so many more insects poured out of the ripped jacket—poured out of Oogie's flesh.

The hooded teen couldn't yell, couldn't make a sound, he could only stare in shock at what he was witnessing. This man was cutting himself and insects were crawling out of him!

Oogie tore himself with the blood-soaked knife, leaving a trail of blood in its path, until it reached his side. He pulled the blooded knife out of himself, and pointed it towards the hooded teen.

With two wide eyes dripping blood into his wide grinning mouth, he said, "I needed new parts anyway."

If the people walking past the alley listened, they could have heard a scream. If the people walking past the alley just walked a simple few feet into the alley itself, they could have seen the blood-soaked walls and people. If the people walking past the alley simply stopped in front of the alley, they could have prevented something. But they didn't. The people only moved on by.

And _that_ is the awful truth.

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16th Oct., 1915, Western U.S.A.:

Two children, a boy and a girl, sat next to each other on a hill. There, the two kids could see miles of land. It wasn't much, just a bunch of dirt roads, unwanted shrubbery, that sort of stuff. But the two kids didn't care at all. All they saw was a world waiting to be explored.

The girl had on a white dress with a matching bow in her hair and a matching pair of shoes, while the boy wore dark gray pants with his white, long-sleeved shirt and had dirty, torn up shoes that looked like it once used to be green.

"Y'know, All Hollow's Eve is comin' up." The young girl, Molly, said.

The boy, Truman, made a little chuckle.

"What? What's so funny?" questioned Molly.

"The way you said it. Nobody says All Hollow's Eve anymore. They say Halloween."

"Yeah. It does have a better sound to it than All Hollow's Eve." Molly gave a soft laugh of her own. "So anyway, _Halloween's_ comin' up, y'know. So, what are you goin' to wear?"

"No clue. I don't have anything to make a costume out of, so why bother?"

"Well, for one thing, it's fun to dress up. You can become anythin' you want for an entire day. Isn't that excitin' enough, Truman?"

"I guess. But I still don't have anything to make a costume."

"Hmm." Molly thought for a bit, putting her hand on her chin in concentration. "Ooo!" Molly exclaimed with a smile. "I know, _I'll_ make a costume for you!"

"You will?" Truman said with a smile.

"Of course. I'll get to it as soon as I can. I'll give it to you..." Molly suddenly stopped speaking, her expression no longer happy, but showing sadness. "Oh." She said quietly, wrapping her arms around her knees. "That's right."

"What? What's wrong?" Truman said with concern.

"I'm goin' away."

"What?!" Truman exclaimed.

Molly kept her knees close to her face as she spoke in a saddened voice, "It's the Leo M. Frank case. Ever since Leo Frank was lynched, my dad..." with a big sigh, Molly looked at Truman. "My father's Jewish, and he fears for me and my mother. He's saying that if we stay here, we'll eventually be killed. So my family is goin' somewhere north."

Truman didn't know what to say. She was going away? All because her father thinks that what happened to this _one_ guy could happen to them? It was stupid.

"When?" Was all Truman could muster.

"I dunno." Molly said with gloom.

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**A/N: Yes, the hooded teen is _supposed _to be hard to understand.**

**Reviews are appreciated. Thanks.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N's: Sorry fellow friends and readers that it took me so long to make this chapter, it's just with a College class I'm taking in High school it's taking a lot of my time. I guess it's a good thing that the teacher and I are personal friends.**

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**Chapter Five: Change**

March, 1936, Halloween Town:

Oogie stumbled on the cold, hard floor. His balance was fading from him. He stuck his arm out and supported himself on the wall. Oogie was dying.

"You are not well, Oogie." said the familiar high-pitched voice.

"I am well!" yelled Oogie at the voice. "I am better than well. In fact, I am so well, I have never felt better!"

"If that is true, than why is your blood covering the wall?"

Oogie looked to his hand on the wall and it was pouring out blood. Oogie quickly put his hand in his shirt. "There is _nothing_ wrong with me!" declared Oogie.

"No matter what you do, no matter how many people you kill, no matter how many organs you take, it is still not enough."

"Shut up!"

"You are getting weaker and weaker."

"Not true!"

"You are _dying_, Oogie Boogie."

"I said, SHUT UP!"

"Or WHAT?" boomed the voice.

Just then, Oogie's bleeding arm started to burn like somebody lit his arm on fire. Oogie yelp in pain, crouching down as the pain intensified. Insects started to pour out of Oogie's bleeding arm. Oogie tried to stop them by death-gripping his arm, but it didn't seem to help. Oogies arm shriveled until there was only bones and shriveled up flesh. "Aaahhhhhhh!" screamed Oogie.

"Without me you are _nothing_, remember that, Oogie." boomed the voice. After the voice was finished talking did insects started to go right back in Oogie's arm, restoring the arm to what it once was.

"One of these days," Oogie said without showing any fear, "I will no longer need you."

"But until that day," started the voice, "you need new organs."

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29th Oct., 1915, Western U.S.A.:

"It's just a little game of Faro." explained Paul Huffton, holding a deck of cards.

Not long after school was over, when Truman was walking home from school, did Eric, Paul, and Joshua pulled him to the side of the dirt-road, sat him down, and Paul offered to play a game of Faro.

Paul proceeded to explain, in a voice that sounded like it came from a friend. "Truman, I bet you're wondering why we offered to play this game with you. The answer is simple: we _want_ you to play with us."

"Liar." Thought Truman, but dared not say it, for Eric and Joshua were standing on each side of him.

"It's simple," continued Paul, "you win, then no harm comes to you."

"But if _we_ win," sneered Eric, gesturing to Paul and Joshua, "we get to beat you up."

"Yeah, we beat you up." sneered Joshua.

"And if I refuse they beat me up." Thought Truman. "We're too far from any houses for someone to notice us, so I better not refuse."

So Truman played the game. Odds were against Truman. Three against one was unfair. Truman knew this, so he also made it unfair: he cheating. In the end, Truman won.

"You cheated!" yelled Eric right before he punched Truman in the face. The force from Eric's punch knocked Truman on his back. "Admit it!"

"Yeah, admit it!" said Joshua.

Paul got over Truman and grabbed Truman's shoulders and put all his weight into pinning Truman down.

"Joshua, help Paul pin down Earthworm." Eric ordered.

Truman was scared. They were going to beat him up again unless he did something now! While Paul was distracted on Joshua, Truman felt around with his hands for anything that could help. Truman's right hand felt something warm and hard with rough edges. A rock! Truman grabbed the rock and using all of his might, banged it against Paul's skull. Paul fell sideways with a scream and a thud.

Truman leapt to his feet and began to run. But Joshua soon tackled Truman to the ground.

"How dare you!" Yelled Eric as he crouched over Truman, waiting for Joshua to move so he can have the first punch.

"You'll pay for that!" screamed Paul as he covered his left eye. "You'll pay for what you did to my eye!"

"Yeah, pay!" said Joshua, still holding Truman.

Joshua turned Truman over so he faced upward.

Paul put his face right next to Truman and smirked. "Let's play a game. A _different_ game?" sneered Paul, his words dripping with venom as he pulled out two dice from his pocket. "A game you can't win. The rules are simple: the number I roll is how many times you get punched by us." Paul held up the dice and said with a loud voice, "First round!" and rolled.

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31st Oct., 10:30 P.M., 1918, Western U.S.A.:

Truman laid there with tears running down his cheek. The pain—oh how the pain still hurt him. Eric, Joshua and Paul decided to give Truman a "lesson" for Halloween. Truman recalled the punch to the nose, the kick in the ribs, the pulling on his hair, the punching to his face, everything. And when they were done they dragged Truman to a cemetery and told him that he was, "Finally with the right crowd," and left Truman.

So, there he was, an eleven-year-old boy, in a cemetery, curled up in a ball with bruises and cuts all over his body on Halloween night with a gray mask Joshua forced on Truman. The gray mask covered the entire head, had holes for eyes and mouth, and keeping the mask on was thin metal around the neck, making it hard for Truman to breathe.

A dark red patch stained the mask on the side of his mouth. Tears ran down his face. His clothes were filthy from the hard dirt. His body was cold, so, so cold.

"Why?" Thought Truman. "Why must I live? Why?"

"You are sad." said a voice. This made Truman look around him. Who was that? Did Paul, Eric and Joshua came back for more? "You are sad." the voice said again.

Truman was afraid. He did not recognize the voice. Was it a voice of a helper or someone wanting to cause Truman even more harm? Truman continued to scan his surroundings, his eyes looking left and right. His eyes shifted like a mad man's, his breath seeable in the cold night.

"You are sad." the voice said again. It voice couldn't have been Paul's, nor Eric's, nor Joshua's, it was way to high-pitched.

"Who's there?!" yelled Truman. He swiveled his head left and right, trying to see a glimpse of whoever was pulling this mean joke. "This isn't funny!"

"I can make you happy." persisted the voice. "I can take all the pain away."

Truman wanted. Truman _really_ wanted that. But who was talking to him!

"I can make you strong. I can make you powerful. I can help you have _revenge_."

Now the voice truly had Truman. Truman thought about what the voice had said. Can this voice actually give him all that? Truman wanted to find out if what the voice was saying actually true.

"Okay." confidently said Truman. "Okay. Just tell me what to do."

Behind Truman, a large grave made of cement opened up with a loud grind. "Go inside." said the voice. Truman slowly got up from where he was and slowly walked toward the tomb and looked inside. In the grave was a cement staircase leading down into pitch darkness. Truman couldn't see a thing. He didn't know what was down there. "Go inside, and I will grant you your wish." persisted the voice. Truman took a deep breath and entered the grave. Once inside, the grave shut itself.

"No turning back." thought Truman.

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**A/N's: Man, this took me a while! ****Hey, while I was moving boxes for my grandmother I found out that I am related to George Gipp, A.K.A., "The Gipper". Cool, huh?**

**This one is dedicated to DodgerNYC, Lennyette, MissMooToYou, Jokermask18, athenaholmes1993, thecrazyblackcat, and Dawn walker wolf. You are all awesome!**

**Reviews are appreciated. Thanks.**


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